She didn’t look his way. Her eyes were fixed on the bar-covered window.
John continued, “I think it’s a good thing your sister isn’t here right now. I’m taking you back to your room.” He looked back up at the attendant. “Has she eaten? How about a shower?”
“I just get them from their rooms. Don’t ask me.”
Before John could respond, Harry said, “Don’t ask you? Then who the hell is he supposed to ask? Can’t you see she needs help?”
The young man put up his hands. “Back off, dude, or I’ll call security. You think they’d let me shower female patients?” He chuckled. “It’d sure make this job better.” Then he shook his head and slowed his words, as if that made for better comprehension. “I just get them and bring them here. That’s my job.”
“Well, I’m taking her back to her room,” John announced.
Harry followed as John pushed the wheelchair. Once they were with Claire behind her closed door, John fought the emotion. “Harry, I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to see her like this.”
“What are you going to do?”
John reached for the brush. “Emily will be here later. In the meantime, I’ll brush her hair.”
Harry ran his hands through his blonde mop and looked out the small, rectangular window, five feet above the floor. “She can’t even see out these windows.” It was more an observation than the start of a conversation. “She loves sunshine.”
John listened as he gently tugged against the tangles, smoothing his sister-in-law’s sun-lightened hair. “I don’t know exactly where they were, but when everything first happened, Claire was suntanned. It’s starting to fade.”
Harry nodded.
“Thanks for coming. This is really hard.”
“Do you need help?”
John looked up and smiled. “Not with brushing her hair… all of it is hard. I hate leaving Emily here to deal with it alone.”
“She won’t be coming back to California, will she?”
John shrugged. “She said she wants to take it a day or week at a time, but I don’t think she will. I don’t think she’ll leave Claire, not like this.”
“Claire was the one who left you guys—twice,” Harry reminded.
“She’s family. No one knows you like your family. The past is…” He looked back down at Claire. Her closed eyes appeared as though she were sleeping, but the slight twist of her neck that gave the right amount of resistance to work out the tangles told him she was awake. “…the past. We know it, but we can’t let that stop the future. It’s the right thing to do.”
You never find yourself until you face the truth.
—Pearl Bailey
“We’re meeting with Judge Temple in his chambers, but there’s something you should know.” Brent said, as he and Tony rode to the courthouse. “He agreed to this meeting with a few stipulations.”
“What kind of stipulations?” Tony asked.
“He demanded equal representation. He refused to meet with us without the claimants being present or at least their representation.”
Tony’s brows furrowed. “So?”
“Jane will be there.”
“And John?”
“I don’t know for certain. When I spoke with the judge, I tried to emphasize that John’s presence wouldn’t be beneficial to this situation.”
“I don’t give a damn who’s there, as long as the end result is that I get to see my wife and daughter. It’s not like John and I will get in a brawl.”
“I’d hoped that wasn’t an option but, nevertheless, I’d rather that this meeting not morph into a hostile environment. I don’t want you saying anything that can be misconstrued. Recently, the momentum has shifted in your favor. Since showing the video from your home office to Evergreen and the ICPD, your defense has taken an upward swing. Even though your pending charges aren’t relevant regarding this restraining order, I don’t want anything that may potentially negate the progress we’ve accomplished.”
Tony huffed under his breath. “I want to see my wife. Despite what Roach is saying about her medical prognosis, I think that I can reach her—snap her out of whatever has happened. I’ll fuck’n do whatever I need to do to get me to her.” He turned toward the window, not watching the scenes of the city pass before him. His back straightened. “The damn state has her, Mrs. Anthony Rawlings, in a state-run mental hospital.” He turned back, the brown of his irises almost completely overwhelmed by black. “That’s absurd! I want her home where she can be cared for properly. She deserves the best doctors money can buy, not some state institution—”
“Home probably isn’t an option, yet.” Brent interrupted. “She’s been officially charged with attempted murder, but I agree: getting her moved to a private facility would be better. I think Emily may even agree with you on that.”
“Imagine that,” Tony replied sarcastically. “I think it may be the first time in the history of mankind that we’ve ever agreed—monumental day.”
Brent narrowed his eyes. “That type of remark is why I don’t want you and the Vandersols together in Judge Temple’s chambers.”
“Vandersols?” Tony emphasized the last letter. “As in Emily, too?”